Feelings Incarnate | ✓

02 | Knickers In Twists

He stilled for a moment before gaping at me dead in the eyes. "Did you just ask for my number?"

What's up with this dude? It's as if it's his first time being asked for his number. Weird much? Gosh, I swear I am a million times ruder in what I think than what I say. What a coward.

"Uh, yeah. Otherwise, we won't really have a way to contact each other, would we?" I arched an eyebrow as I held out my phone to him.

Wow, check out this boldness.

He stood in silence for a second, presumably thinking over the options available instead of giving me his number.

After what felt like ages, he eventually gave in. "Fine, but don't give my number to anyone else," he warned me as he snatched the phone from my hands.

"And why would I want to do that?" I muttered under my breath.

Oh God, is this really me talking or a ghost that's possessing me? How come I'm suddenly good at comebacks? Or maybe it's just my annoyance at getting a rude partner that's making an appearance.

He must've heard me because he scoffed and stared at me in disbelief.

I chose to ignore the look and glanced over at the sky, now obscured with massive, grey clouds. It looked like it'd rain soon. The excitement was pulsing through my veins at the thought. I loved the rain! It was soothing for me; I had no idea why.

"Here," he said, handing me back my phone. "Don't spam, it's annoying."

"Yeah, sure," I called behind me as I turned my back on him and left.

●●●

Sure enough, it started pouring just as I reached home, soaking me as I rushed up the cobbled walkway--my foot nearly slipping upon the wet cobblestones. The rain fell in crazy, chaotic drops, the gusting breeze whipping them in wild vortices one moment and in oblique sheets the next, sending them hurtling down in all directions. It sprinkled on me, drenching my hair, skin, and clothes--the chilly wind cutting through me like a knife.

Talk about 'great' timing.

Opening the door, I scanned around the house. It was silent and uninviting. Dad was probably out somewhere with one of his friends, and Mom was still in her office.

Mom was technically retired now--she was over sixty--but the company she'd worked in had begged her to stay and work for a few more years because her performance was outstanding over the past years.

That's just how my mom was; she might be old in years, but she still worked as efficiently as a young woman in her twenties. Her hair was dyed black to hide her grey strands, so she actually looked half her age.

Irene had gone for an outing with her university friends two days ago. That's what she does. She takes off on trips, enjoying her youth while I am left at home, hopelessly overthinking whether Mom could afford my semester and whether we would go penniless soon.

Lately, I am always left with these thoughts. Irene doesn't seem to care about money problems at all; it's all fun and games for her. I sometimes wished I could just cast off my anxiety and have fun myself. But that'd never happen to me. Anxiety is in my genes, I guess.